The Black Album
by Jack Hawksmoor
Summary: It's actually not the worst day Dean has had during the apocalypse. A season 5 '99 problems' AU. Destiel.
1. Chapter 1

The Black Album

CH 1

by: Jack Hawksmoor

_They could have tried to make it to the car. They didn't. A '99 Problems' Destiel AU._

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><p>Dean had only three rounds left in the shotgun, and he'd lost the knife when they'd taken Sam. He was aware that he was rocking the post-fight shakiness too early, that his guts were churning and he was breathing too hard and that he probably ought to be ashamed of himself for pussing out like this. After all, it was just more demons on earth than he'd ever seen in his whole life. No biggie.<p>

Dean dragged the barn door shut behind him and caught a breath, his eyes darting left and right, searching the darkness. He couldn't have more than a minute before they figured out where he was. Or at least smelled the blood leaking out of the gash in his thigh. He knew he couldn't stay and that he would need every scrap of surprise on his side that he could get if he was going to try and take the house. With three salt rounds.

Dean laughed, once, under his breath, and pushed the thought away. No time to get hysterical.

The house was where they would have Sam. That's where he'd bring Sam, if he were them. Space to work on him.

He'd never seen so many demons all together.

Dean dug his cellphone out of his pocket and looked at it. No messages. He crammed it back into his pocket without making any calls. He'd pretty much lost hope on that front, anyway.

Cas hadn't answered his phone in weeks. Not since he got the news about daddy not giving a shit. Dean had hoped he was just...dealing. When he'd left he'd looked like someone had shot his puppy. Dean had figured he'd need some time. But...

Fuck. Maybe Castiel was dead.

He edged his way over to the side door, cracked it open with shotgun ready. The yard between the barn and the house was eerily clear. It looked like the demons had retreated inside. Softly, Dean hummed a few bars of 'Suicide Solution' under his breath.

There was no one around to get pissy at him for it being in bad taste. Or to look hopelessly confused by the reference, either. He sighed, lowering the gun slightly. Dean looked at the ceiling for a minute, uncertain.

"Cas," Dean said, because at a time like this, honestly, screw formality, "I dunno what's gonna happen here but," he took a breath. "If you're out there to get this I got a sneaking suspicion Zach's going to be hunting my sweet ass in heaven pretty soon. So." He squared his shoulders, nodding to himself. "I'll hold out, long as I can, man. Do your best down here." He paused. God, that was a lame last message. "Good luck," he added, sounding even lamer.

Dean shook his head. What the hell. He wasn't a Hallmark card, damn it.

There was a crashing from behind him, the sound of metal and wood tangling up with a body.

Dean whipped around, the shotgun brought up straight and even, braced at his shoulder, finger on the trigger.

"I told you," said a familiar deep voice, dropped down even rougher and lower than normal, as if the person in question had just rolled out of bed and chugged a glass of road gravel, "not to pray to me."

Something else clanged together, and there was a muffled, strange, 'oof' noise. The sound of stumbling in a dark, hazard-filled barn.

"Cas?" Dean said, lowering the shotgun, relieved enough at the prospect that he maybe wasn't going to die that the weirdness of Cas tripping over anything didn't immediately penetrate.

He wouldn't have to face up to the thought that if he did get stuck up in heaven, this time he didn't think he was going to be able to give Zachariah's ugly douchebag face much of a fight.

"I told you," Cas repeated, but it was quieter, sort of annoyed. As if he was muttering to himself about some idiot he knew.

That was weird enough to get Dean to make a face at him, and stare.

"I'm not the only angel that can hear prayers, you know-" Cas continued, stepping closer and further into view-only to fall over something else in the dark. Whatever-it-was made a hollow noise, and a second later, an empty bucket skidded to a halt at Dean's feet.

Dean looked down at it. It declined to give him any answers. He looked up at Cas, who was picking himself up, looking annoyed. And kind of...wobbly.

Cas spread his hands, slumping under an exasperated sigh. "Why are you in a barn?" he asked, as if this was one of the mysteries of the universe. He was squinting at Dean. Like Dean was out of focus or something.

Dean gaped at him for a mute moment. "Are you drunk?" _I __don't__ freaking __believe __this._

Cas rubbed at his face in a distracted way that was pretty pathetically obvious. At least to somebody like Dean, who'd been almost a professional drunk several times in his adult life. "We don't have time for this," Cas said, slurring slightly as his words ran together. "We have to get out of here. My brothers could have heard you." He stopped, as if finally noticing something was wrong. "Where's Sam?" he asked, frowning.

Dean felt everything good and kind and nice run out of him. "About that," he said icily, as if it was Cas' fault. He reached over, grabbed Cas by a handful of tan trenchcoat, and dragged him over to the door. Cas tripped over his own feet a bit, and now that Dean was close enough he absolutely _reeked _of booze, but Dean got him there. He cracked the door open, and showed him the house.

"Demons," he said, softly. "They got Sam in there." They wouldn't kill him. They couldn't kill him. They needed his ass for Lucifer. They needed him whole, so he could say yes.

"How many?" Cas asked, his eyes narrowing. His lips tightened, and his chin jutted out a little. Dean relaxed, just a bit, recognizing the expression. Smashed or not, Cas could do tactics.

Dean lifted his eyebrows and let out a breath of something kind of like laughter. "Thirty? Maybe more."

Cas nodded in his usual morose way and let out a puff of air through his lips. "O-kay," he said, shoving ice down Dean's spine.

He'd heard that hopeless, beat-down, my-life-is-shit tone of voice out of Cas' mouth before, in a piece of crap future where everything sucked, especially Dean. But he had thought that he wouldn't ever hear it again. Hoped he wouldn't.

_ Not so soon..._

So he was stuck for a minute, staring at Cas in some kind of hellish flash-forward freakout. And in that frozen moment, Cas did something drunk and stupid.

He touched the end of the barrel of Dean's gun, lifting it up and looking at it as if it was fascinating. At the three whole rounds inside it. "I like your plan," Cas said, in a slow, overly affectionate tone of voice Dean knew quite well from every dive bar at closing time. Then Cas reached for his forehead.

_Oh, shit-_

Dean did not quite duck out of the way in time. He found himself flinching into a kitchen counter, and had to work not to bash his face on it. He turned around, and saw Cas staring at him with a satisfied and slightly sleepy look on his face that was almost surreal in its utter absence of sobriety. God, this hunt was insane. Dean shot him an incredulous look, and then attempted to silently promise terrible retribution in the future with his expression alone. Demons in the house, and everything. Cas just tilted his head and stared at him.

That look always worked better on Sam, anyway. It would work on him again, once Dean had killed every black-eyed bastard in this house that had even looked at Sam funny.

Then two demons walked in through the hallway, and Cas quite calmly reached out and pulled the iron skillet off the stovetop despite the fact that he wasn't facing the hallway and hadn't even looked at them. There was a casual violence to the action that was pretty awesome.

Cas was facing him, and Dean met his eyes briefly as he rested the barrel of the shotgun on Cas' shoulder, then flicked his focus away as he fired at the closest demon. The gunshot was twice as loud as usual, in the little tiled kitchen. The barrel was two inches from Cas' ear, but he didn't blink. He didn't take his eyes off Dean, either.

There was a breath of air and that funny angelic reality hiccup that looked like the world just had a small stroke. Then Cas was beside the other demon, swinging the skillet in a wide arc that was impressive _before _it took the head clean off. Cas looked up, blood on his face.

There was something strange and dark and wrong in Dean, that he found that so compelling.

"They are making a call," Cas said, his eyes on something not in the room with them.

"Ri-crap," Dean finished, because he wasn't in the kitchen anymore, he was in the basement, and about a dozen demons were turning to look at him. Sammy was there, gagged and tied up right in the middle, looking sweaty and pissed and uncomfortable but otherwise intact. There was a woman on the floor in front of Sam with her throat slit. She was definitely not intact. One of the demons was holding a silver bowl that he'd seen before.

Cas stepped in front of him, sort of idly hefting the iron pan in his hand in a way that was threatening and weirdly hot. The pan was still dripping. Unfortunately, the basement was dirt, and uneven, and Cas was still drunk as hell even if he was a dangerous freaking instrument of holy wrath. He tripped. Which kinda spoiled the moment.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" One of the demons said, scorn heavy in her voice.

Dean aimed at her first, though there were others closer. "Not really," he said, and shot her in the face.

Then Cas got his feet under him. There was a flutter, space bent for a second in a way that was slightly nauseating to look at, and then Cas was abruptly standing in the middle of them. The silver bowl went flying, the blood inside it spilling wasted on the floor. Dean racked the shotgun and took a step as the demons started screaming and cursing.

That was as far as he got before one of them waved an arm and pinned him against the wall.

He scraped a table as he went-demon powers were no joke-and banged his head good as he landed, flat and helpless, his ribs squeezing unpleasantly under the stress. Dean made an effort to struggle anyway. He always did, because fuck them. He looked down as he was squirming and almost blew it by laughing out loud.

The knife. The freaking knife. Unbelievable. Sam had been caught with it, and it was right there, right there practically in his hand on the table. They must have just set it aside, demons were so incredibly cocky-

There was a demon in front of him, smirking already at how helpless Dean was, and Dean just lost it. He tilted his head back and laughed and laughed.

The demon, some blonde guy in tweed, didn't like that, and got all up in his face about it. "And what is so funny?" He did something and suddenly being pinned to the wall was a _lot_ more painful. Dean bared his teeth.

_Amateur._

"You," he said sweetly, "demons." He laughed again. "You're so damn stupid."

The guy grabbed his jacket and the force faded so the demon could slam Dean against the wall himself. "I'm going to enjoy myself with you," he said, and then choked, and couldn't say anything else because of the hole in his lung. Dean twisted the knife in the demon's back a little, just because he could, curling his lip as the guy died three inches from his face.

He let the guy drop, stumbled a little as he caught his feet away from the wall. There was a lot of blood everywhere. Dean didn't think most of them were technically dead, but they weren't moving much any more. Not for the moment, anyway. There were two demons on Cas, so Dean took three large steps through the carnage (and right past Sam, who was spattered with blood and looking frantic) and sunk the knife into the side of the neck of one of them, wrenching him away and holding the blade there until the light show faded.

When he looked up, Cas was straightening away from the other, looking wild and bloody. His hair was up at all angles, his clothing askew, and there was blood smeared across his face. It was on his mouth. He looked like a crazed serial killer. Cas took a breath, dropping the twisted bit of...something he'd been using as a weapon. Not a skillet. He must have lost that somewhere.

"We should go," he said, in that impressively low, rough tone of voice. Cas' drinking voice. He was looking at the stairs leading to the rest of the house.

Dean stepped over to Sam just as reinforcements showed up at the top of the stairs. Cas was almost fast enough to get them out of there without a hassle. Space folded around them, and an instant later the three of them had a rough landing in the deserted parking lot of a Circle K. Dean kept his feet, but the chair Sam was tied to teetered up on two legs and crashed rather impressively to the ground. At about that precise second Dean realized they had a stowaway. One of the demons had teleported along for the ride.

She took a look at the situation, at the fact that she was the only demon who'd managed to make the trip, and threw her head back.

To be perfectly honest, Dean didn't have a second to think about what that would mean. That she could bail on her meat-suit and go get reinforcements. Tell her asshole buddies where they were. There just wasn't any time to think.

Cas had already grabbed Dean's hand, the hand that was currently holding the knife, and used it to stab her in the chest with it. He hauled Dean along as well, like he was rather large, awkward handle. Incidentally, dragging all of them to the ground as well, as she flickered out her last bit of bitch half-life.

Dean took a breath, looking at his hand on the knife, and Cas' hand over it. He lifted his eyes. Cas was staring at him. For just a spit second, Dean didn't really think about anything except how freaking awesome that move had just been. Seriously. Bad-ass. It was probably psychotic to smile at a time like this.

Then he heard Sammy give his first impatient struggle against the ropes and turned his head. "Sam," he said sharply, and scrambled toward him, distracted. He fumbled with the gag at his mouth. "You okay? Sammy?"

Sam spit and shook his head, looking flustered and upset. "I'm fine. They didn't even touch me. They wanted to keep me safe for their boss."

"Yeah, I figured," Dean nodded, stepping over him to poke at the ropes that were tied loosely around him. He walked back around to stare at Sam's face. "Dude," he said flatly, giving Sam a look.

Sam should have gotten out of these in like, thirty seconds. This wasn't exactly the time for him to start snoozing on the job.

Sam let out a sharp, exasperated breath, looking embarrassed. "They put a spell on the ropes, okay?" he said sharply. He struggled against them once, as if to illustrate, thumping the chair against the ground. He thrust out his chin, looking sullen and about five years old. "The stupid things won't budge."

Dean crouched down in front of him, twisted his mouth thoughtfully, lifted his eyebrows, and nodded. "Huh," he said. "That's a new one." He scratched his cheek, glanced briefly back at the bitch-corpse. "Hang on," He reached out and ruffled Sam's hair as he stood up, which had pissed Sam off ever since he was nine and didn't fail this time either. Sam flinched away from him with a noise of protest, but since Sam had just spent the last hour scaring the crap out of him, Dean figured his little brother could just deal with it.

In the apocalypse, you had to take the small pleasures where you could.

"Hey!" Sam called after him. "Dean, at least get me up off the ground, man..." he trailed off, grumbling. "I'm in a puddle."

Dean knelt over the demon corpse and pulled the knife out of her. He glanced back when he heard scraping, and was in time to see Cas lifting Sam (chair and all) one handed and righting him. Sam muttered his thanks, and looked surprised when Cas responded by resting a hand on Sam's shoulder, leaning on him like he might consider falling over if Sam wasn't there.

"Dude," Sam said, trying to turn his head to look back at Cas and not really succeeding, his eyebrows drawn up tight in concern, "you smell like a liquor store." He glanced over at Dean, and the silent 'what is up with _this_?' on his face was so loud Dean could _hear_ it.

Dean shook his head, and did his best to try and tell Sam with his expression to just drop it.

Sam, as always, ignored him. "Cas, are you okay?"

Cas was sort of sagged over the arm he was using to brace himself on Sam's shoulder, and at this he sighed loudly. As if Sam was a moron. He rolled his head back with a loose motion until his face was pointed at the sky, but his eyes were closed. "Sam," he said, and his voice was so deep it actually cracked, "Do I look okay?"

The exasperation in his voice was thick enough that you could probably spoon it up. Add a nice whipped topping, make yourself a tasty stop-asking-me-personal-shit dessert.

Sam looked at Dean for support, looking hurt. Dean shrugged, shoving himself to his feet, and dusting off his knees. What the hell could he say? Who was all right nowadays anyway? Cas looked like a Wes Craven movie reject that hadn't slept in six months.

Dean walked around behind Sam and put a hand on Cas' shoulder. Cas moved with his grip in a back-and-forth swaying motion that made Dean think it might be a good idea to get him into a chair. Or a bed. Dean held up the knife, glanced down at Sam's ropes, and gave him a questioning look.

Cas blinked once, too slowly, taking a little too long to focus on what Dean was trying to say. Cas' eyelids seemed to be having trouble getting past half mast. Once he managed to actually look Dean in the eye, Cas took a breath, tightened his lips, then lifted his eyebrows. 'Why not?'

Give it a shot, then.

"Hey," Sam said then, craning his neck to look as Dean leaned down, "what are you doing? Are you sure about this? The spell could backfire or something."

Dean paused with the knife on the rope, glanced up at Cas. Cas looked at Sam thoughtfully, and then look a single step back from him, letting his hand drop from where it had rested on Sam's shoulder.

Well, crap.

Dean clapped Sam on the arm. "No problem, Sam." Dean said with false cheer, and started sawing with one hand, turning his face away gingerly.

The rope fell away, just like ordinary rope. Dean let out a breath he absolutely had not been holding.

Sam jumped up before he was really done, wrestling with the ropes that he was still half-tangled in, because Sam hated feeling helpless pretty much more than anything. Except being told what to do.

"Right," Sam said briskly, like he was in charge and hadn't just been trussed up and saved like a wayward princess. "So, what's with the demons?"

Dean got to his feet and let him pretend.

"Yeah, I've never seen them like that," he agreed, and looked at Cas. If anyone had answers...

Cas was leaning heavily on the chair Sam had vacated. Both hands on the back of it, his head hanging between his arms. Dean faltered.

"Cas?" he said, his voice softer. He glanced at Sam, who shrugged, looking awkward. Dean stepped closer, ran a hand up Cas' back. "Hey," he ventured, "maybe we can..."

"The demons," Cas muttered.

Dean leaned closer. "What?"

Cas sighed and pushed himself straight, as if it took a lot of effort. "They wouldn't be gathering in such large numbers unless they were planning a battle." He wiped at his face, an exhausted gesture that smeared some blood around a bit. "If the angels aren't here yet, they will be." He raised his head, looked Dean in the eye. "We need to get away before that happens."

"You want us to run?" Sam said, incredulous.

Cas gave Sam a look that said, quite clearly, 'are you kidding me'. "If you still want to avoid becoming pawns of heaven and Lucifer? Then yes, I'd say we should avoid getting between their armies."

There wasn't a hell of a lot to say to that, really.

Dean sighed. "Man, remember when we used to just kill demons?" He kicked at a rock by his foot.

"Dean, we were killing demons ten minutes ago," Cas said, deadpan.

Dean made a face at him.

"Uh," Sam said hesitantly. "Yeah. You uh..." he gestured at Cas' face, making a sweeping motion by his mouth. "You got something...right here." Sam wiped at his own mouth, looking uncomfortable.

Cas touched his mouth, which did almost nothing. Particularly since his hands were bloody, too. Funny, Dean hadn't even noticed until now.

Something else he hadn't noticed...

"Guys...I think the powwow's over," Dean said, tensing, looking past Sam. Beyond him, one of the clear glass doors of the convenience store stood open, framing a frozen, shocked face. Civilian. The guy slammed the door quick, ran back inside. At least he wasn't stupid.

"Yeah. Time to go." Sam said flatly. He looked to Dean as if expecting to share some frustration in how utterly shit the night had been so far.

Dean was looking up at the sign over their heads. He looked down at Sam, and shifted from one foot to the other, a smile hovering around his mouth.

Sam's face fell like somebody just told him salad was canceled this year. "No," he said.

"Dude," Dean replied, glancing over to where the Circle K employee had fled back inside the store. "Strange things," he began.

"No!" Sam said, much more forcefully. "That's not funny, it's never funny."

Dean smiled a tight, giddy smile. "Strange things are afoot," he said, quick and low, as if he had to get it out before somebody stopped him. Cas was looking at them like they had both lost their minds.

"I hate you," Sam replied. "Can we go now?"

An hour later they were in a motel parking lot in Wisconsin, and Dean was going through a minor freakout over the fact that he'd left his car behind, parked down the road from demon central, and screw it, angels or not he wasn't leaving his baby for any of those pricks to possibly mess with. Or...lean on her...or get her all covered in sulfur or something. He'd walk back and get her if he had to.

Sam had gone to get them a room, since at the moment he looked the least like a psycho. Though he had to chuck his jacket. Cas went to ditch the stowaway's body, since they'd been spotted (probably actually committing murder this time) and the last thing they needed right now on top of everything else was cop trouble. And Dean stood in the parking lot, cursing at the universe and his goddamn luck.

They were probably screwing in the backseat. Frigging demons. God, he was going to puke.

Then Sam came out of the office with a smug little smile and a room key, and somehow managed to bring the mood down even further in under four words.

"Hey," he said, looking around pointedly. "Where's Cas?"

Dean frowned at him, his stomach dropping. Cas had been gone a while. "Taking care of the bitch-corpse," he replied, shoving the concern that tried to rise back down.

"Nice," Sam said, making a face at him. As if he somehow lacked class.

Dean misinterpreted him deliberately, because he was classy as fuck. "What?" he demanded, "you wanted to keep her? That's a little kinky even for-"

"No! Dean-" Sam cut him off, and sighed loudly. He took a half-step back and kind of re-set his shoulders, like he was faced with a grueling ordeal. He continued with a calmer expression, and a patient tone of voice that suggested Dean might actually be retarded. "Cas can go anywhere on the planet instantaneously. He should be able to dump a body in like five seconds." Sam raised his eyebrows and spread his hands, as if inviting Dean along on the logic train.

Dean looked down at his shoes for a second, something tightening in his chest like a fist. "He's a tough guy," Dean said quietly, "I'm sure he's fine."

Sam drew his head back a little, as if surprised at Dean. "He was hammered," Sam pointed out assertively, with a note of 'and what the hell do I even _do_ with that information' in his voice.

Dean frowned, working his jaw, unhappy.

Sam raised his eyebrows high. "Look, he drops off the map for weeks, and then, when he does show up," Sam's face tightened incredulously, and he gestured at the air. "He's..."

"Yeah," Dean agreed quietly, and pressed his lips together flat and tight. He nodded. "He's doing the full Lindsey Lohan."

Sam blinked at him, as if he'd just said something weird, but he hadn't, so Dean ignored him.

"Uh, anyway..." Sam said, giving his head a little shake, "I just think maybe, since this whole 'stuck on earth' thing is new to him..." Sam fixed him with a sad, rather pleading expression.

He hadn't even told Sam about the drunk-stoned-hopeless-Cas from the the future, much less how their Cas was starting to sound like him. If Dean hadn't already been worried and feeling like crap about this whole situation, the earnest puppy look on Sam's face would have done the job nicely. Dean dug around in his pocket for his cellphone. The call went to voicemail, but this time Dean left a message.

"Cas," he said, hunching over, staring at the ground without really seeing it, "Uh, when you get this...I really need you to come back to the motel. Tonight." He looked over at Sam, who nodded, looking distressingly sympathetic and encouraging. Dean turned away, stared out across the parking lot. "Look," he added, his voice softer. "I know tonight's not a good night for you. But this is important, okay? We're in room..." he turned to Sam, made a 'gimme' motion with his free hand. Sam fumbled for a moment in his pocket, and then tossed him the key. "Room 13A," Dean finished. "All right? I'll see you." He hesitated. "Please."

When he looked up Sam's eyes were wide.

"What?" Dean snapped, annoyed and a little embarrassed.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know about Cas, but if that was my message, I'd come running."

Dean did some quick mental translation. "Screw you, dude. I say please." He sniffed and puffed himself up a little, scoffing elaborately.

Sam tilted his head and looked down at him in a way that was viciously annoying. It was a look that said very clearly 'I have known you all my life'. Sometimes Dean got the sneaking suspicion that Sam liked to pretend that just because he was taller, he was older. Or at least wiser. Something like that. Dean would pin it on the college education making him snotty, but Sam had been doing it since he'd hit his growth spurt at 16.

"Yeah." Sam agreed soberly, (wisely) narrowing his eyes a little."That's how I know when things are serious."

Dean took both hands and scrubbed at his face with them, suddenly tired. "Sam, look at our lives," he said wearily. "When are things not serious?" When he looked up Sam had revved the sympathy and concern up to about warp factor 9, so Dean retreated as an act of pure self-preservation.

"Right. I need a shower." God save him from an attempt at a heart-to-heart with his brother now.

'God save'...they really needed to find a better way to say these kinds of things. Sam might have tried to say something to his back as he walked away, but at that point Dean really wasn't listening. He made a lot of noise opening the door to drown him out.

Anything Sam was likely to say at that point was only increasing in likelihood toward infinity of them sharing their feelings...which, honestly was more punishment than Dean could take after the night he'd just had.

Though he did bring his phone in the bathroom and set it on the counter. Just in case.

Cas didn't call.

Instead, Dean came out to Sam having a minor freakout about their 'new way of operating'. Well, at least they were taking turns losing it.

"I'm just saying, it doesn't seem right to tuck tail and run," Sam said heatedly. "I mean, is this what we do now? The big guns come rolling out and we hightail it for the hills? There had to be people who lived around there."

Dean scratched his cheek. "Well," he said, adjusting his towel, "I don't know about you, but me and Cas were doing plenty of fighting." He smiled. "I guess you were a little too tied up to notice."

Sam set his jaw and tiled his head sharply, his shoulders dropping in a silent piece of body language that screamed _you __suck_.

"The ropes," he said slowly, sullen, "had something on them. Like I said."

Dean raised his eyebrows high. "Sure," he said sweetly.

"Dean, I'm serious," Sam said with a sigh. "We need to figure out what we're doing here-"

Dean started digging through the pile of his stuff for his underwear. "Cas said angels, dude. We're not up for Godzilla vs. Mothra part two right now."

There was a pause, then, "I don't know if you noticed, but Cas isn't exactly at his best right now,"

Dean scoffed openly. "Who is?" he demanded, straightening and spreading his arms wide. "It's the freaking apocalypse, Sam. What do you expect? Fun times? We've been trying to figure stuff out for a month and we haven't got squat. Not on the end of the world, not on Cas' deadbeat dad, and not on icing Lucifer." Dean raised his eyebrows. "Nobody is okay right now."

Sam blinked rapidly several times, like Dean had just thrown too much at him all at once. It only lasted a second, though. Even if he did look sick to his stomach afterward. For all his poking at Dean about his feelings, Sam sure as hell never seemed to like it when Dean actually let loose on him some.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice gone all quiet and shaky, "I only meant..." Sam was picking at the table. "That maybe Cas wasn't thinking straight."

Silence.

"We'll ask him tomorrow then," Dean said simply. He stared at his brother a minute. Sam continued to pick at the table, sneaking worried looks at him. Dean pulled his underwear on and threw his towel at the floor, scowling at it as if it had tricked him into spilling more than he'd wanted to.

"Hey," Sam said quietly.

Dean got up and pulled the blanket off the bed, businesslike. He could _hear_ the lifetime moment hovering in Sam's voice.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Dean sat down on the side of the bed by the door, facing away from his brother, shutting his eyes with the force of his sigh.

"I'm going to sleep," he said.

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><p><em>Author's Note: Nobody kill me. To those who like what I write and are pissed I'm not finishing what I'm already in the middle of...I'll get there. Unfortunately Supernatural happened. Also Destiel. I will get back to my regularly scheduled program. I just have to get this one hot guy and an angel in the sack first.<br>_

_To those who just read Supernatural and don't give a crap about me...well, first off, my condolences. You should probably skip the author's notes. Second, this story happens instead of and during '99 problems', but everything up to that is exactly the same._

_Jay-Z fans may care that '99 problems' was released on 'The Black Album'._

_Finally, munch thanks to XXKayTayxX, my excellent Beta.  
><em>


	2. Chapter 2

The Black Album

Ch 2

**_(THERE BE SMUT HERE. TASTY SMUT. smut smut SMUT. FAIR WARNING.)_**

By: Jack Hawksmoor

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><p>Dean dreamed. He dreamed of a parking lot.<p>

He was a little disappointed.

It was...well, mostly empty...Dean squinted up at the sign looming over him. It was shining in the determined and depressing way only a broken florescent motel sign could shine. It was also familiar.

"Wait, is this _our _motel?" Dean asked no one, indignant that even in his dreams he was stuck in the ass end of the apocalypse, in a shitty place that didn't even have pay-per-view. "What the hell? I can't even dreamup something fun-" Dean began, about to go on a serious rant to his own subconscious, because frankly, if this was what he was reduced to, he needed to bitch himself out. As he turned around though, he drew upshort.

There was his baby, shining dark and pretty behind him, where there had only been asphalt a second before. Castiel was leaning up against her, hunched into his trenchcoat, looking like something out of a grittydetective movie. At least he'd cleaned the blood off himself.

Dean relaxed and shoved his hands into his pockets, suddenly understanding why his dream had been heading this way. He stared at Cas for a minute, then walked over to him, amused.

"Dude. I know, I'm irresistible. But really? You have got to cut this out," Dean raised his eyebrows in exaggerated sympathy, his voice teasing. "Send me some flowers or something, it's getting embarrassing."

He grinned at Cas, pretty pleased with that. Dream-stalking deserved some ribbing.

Cas lifted his head and stared at him, mouth open a little, his eyebrows coming together sharply. If anything, Dean would say he looked surprised.

Then Dean realized Cas probably thought Dean had just legitimately asked him for flowers, and shifted uncomfortably on his feet. He looked away and tried not to flinch. Crap. That out-girled dream stalking. Probably.

Dean cleared his throat in a deep and manly way. "So, what's up? " he said gruffly, puffing himself up a little and gesturing between the two of them.

Cas did not appear to notice Dean's obvious and sterling masculinity, which Dean thought was a little unfair.

He blinked and looked to one side, as if they might not be alone here. "I got your call, " Cas said quietly, in that weird way he had of not emphasizing the right words. He craned his neck a little, looking out over to theedge of the parking lot. He was definitely not sober. But he seemed to be a little bit more sober than he had been. Actually, he looked nervous. "We can't talk here. "

Dean blinked at him. "Oh yeah, right, " he said sarcastically, as if he'd just remembered that bridge in New York Cas wanted to sell him, "because people can eavesdrop on us in my head. "

Cas turned to him, overbalancing only a little, and his eye contact was as matter-of-fact as a smack in the face. "Yes," he said.

"Then why do it at all?" Dean asked honestly, his skepticism starting to waiver, just from Cas' reaction. He glanced over his shoulder, then felt stupid.

"Your message it," Cas paused in his rather paranoid scan of their surroundings, and hit Dean with some seriously intense eye contact. "It seemed urgent."

Dean didn't really have a response to that. Cas actually looked worried. So Dean just gaped at Cas and felt sort of touched for a second.

"Okay," he said, after his brain caught up. "Yeah." So this wasn't exactly an emergency...that made things a little awkward. Dean shifted on his feet uncomfortably. "Kinda."

Cas frowned at him, squinting a bit.

Dean gestured with a thumb over one shoulder. "Just lemme pop back in my meatsuit, " he said, and grinned, because that was an awesome phrase and how often could a living guy use it, "And we can- "

Cas stiffened.

"-I don't believe it," said That Voice.

No. Zachariah could not be in his dreams. The thought was nauseating.

"Shit," Dean hissed, snapping his head around to look. Zachariah was right there, looking astonished and fucking ecstatic. Like a guy who just tripped over a wallet stuffed with hundred dollar bills.

Cas grabbed Dean's arm so hard it felt like he'd slammed it in a door, yanking him close. Zachariah yelled something like 'No you don't'. Dean couldn't really concentrate because there was suddenly all this _light_everywhere. Like, fry-your-eyeballs-to-a-crisp-light.

He had half a second to think 'Crap, they're fighting' and '_Pamela' _before he screwed his eyes shut tight and got smacked hard on the forehead...and then he was fighting with his own sheets, panicked in a dark, shittymotel room.

Safe. Awake. Eyeballs intact. Dean cursed.

_'I'll_ _hold_ _them_ _off,_ _I'll_ _hold_ _them_ _all_ _off-'_

Had Cas just angel-poofed him away so he could get his ass kicked by his big brother? In a fight he wasn't even sober for?

"Cas?" He demanded of the dark, half-hoping Cas was being super-creepy and stalkerish, lurking in the shadows of the room somewhere. The room stayed relatively quiet, except for Sam, who was sitting bolt uprightin the bed next to him, eyes wide and looking freaked. Dean thought he had a knife in his hand, and felt a little swell of pride, despite everything.

"Dean?" Sam said, sounding strangled, "What the hell?"

"Angels," Dean said, and did _not_ sound breathy and scared. He was just...out of breath. From the...whatever.

He tried to think back. Zach had never seemed to be much of a physical, hand-to-hand kind of ass kicker. He was the strategy guy. And Cas was tough for a little dude. Dean had seen him wipe the floor with two of his brothers at once. Cas might be just fine. Dean didn't really know a lot about angel mojo. Maybe Zachariah wasn't all that much more powerful than Cas.

"What?" Sam demanded, "How?"

Dean kicked his way clear of the covers and stood up, grabbing the gun from under his pillow and holding his free hand out in a 'stay' position toward his brother.

"Wait here," he said. He ignored the incredulous noise Sam made and went to the door. "Don't go to sleep," Dean added, which put a thoughtful look on Sam's face. It didn't stop Sam from getting up to follow ignored that, too. He took a breath and opened the door like anything imaginable could be on the other side.

He stopped, frowning. He hadn't really expected his car.

She was sitting there, looking exactly the same as she had when they'd left her back in demon central. She was parked in almost the same spot she had been in Dean's dream. As innocent-looking as a badass musclecar could look. Dean poked his head out of the door and looked around hesitantly.

The place was dead quiet. Nobody around. Dean started to feel ridiculous when he felt his brother crowding up behind him and looming over his shoulder with that giant cave-troll frame to get a look at what was outthere. Some of his hair flapped in Dean face and Dean jerked away from him with an annoyed noise, stepping out from the doorway.

Nothing jumped out at him, or appeared in a flap of wings with an arrogant face begging to be punched.

Dean relaxed a bit, looked back at Sam. Sam shrugged, ducked inside for a minute, then tossed Dean's t-shirt at his face, dangling the car keys in his hands. Dean pulled the shirt on quick, noticed Sam doing thesame, and they both, as if by mutual agreement, stepped out into the parking lot and approached his baby in a cautiously casual manner.

Just two barefoot dudes in t-shirts and their underwear creeping though the parking lot at three in the morning, carrying deadly weapons. Dean really hoped this motel was full of deep sleepers.

Dean thought, for a second, that it was just a shadow by his passenger-side tire. But he and Sam had split off, coming around the car on different sides, and Sam had a better angle.

"Castiel!" Sam blurted, and Dean stiffened like Sam had fired a gun off.

"Cas?" Dean darted around the front of the car, ignoring the bite of little rocks and who knew what else into his bare feet. Sam was already sort of hunched over Cas, like he needed protecting from something.

Cas was sitting on the ground, propped up against the passenger-side wheel like it was the most comfortable place in the world to be. He had one knee bent, and that big shiny angel sword out and held loosely in hisright hand. It didn't _look_ like he'd had to stick it in anyone recently.

In fact, just like in Dean's dream, it looked like Cas was pretty much mess-free at this point. Which was nice, in case anybody poked their head out of the door. He also looked completely exhausted and totally bizarreall sprawled out like that. Dean had never seen Cas...no, strike that. Dean had never seen this version of Cas look like that.

Dean knelt down next to him, fighting off a chill. He reached out and gripped Cas by the arm. "Cas," he said, very gently. His brother gave him a sharp look. "Hey. You in one piece?"

Cas rolled his head back against the car to look up at Dean, his head looking oddly loose on his neck. "More or less," He said simply, and almost managed half a smile. It looked ridiculous.

Dean let out a huge breath in relief and sat back on his heels, giving Cas' shoulder an affectionate pat.

They didn't break eye contact. It was kind of awesome. Cas was some kind of kung-fu master of eye contact. It nicely negated the need for a lot of embarrassing conversations about feelings. Which Dean life was a little too saturated with those already for his liking.

Dean was really freaking happy Cas wasn't hurt or dead. Cas noticed, and got some warm fuzzies without being a big girl about it. It was sort of zen, or something.

Whether it was from Cas' admittedly shitty condition or Dean's reaction to him, Sam was looking worried and twitchy, eying both of them as if he was just starting to grasp that whole 'nobody is okay' thing and wasgetting nervous about it.

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Zachariah," Cas sighed, rubbing at his face.

"He was in my dream," Dean said, looking up. Sam met his eyes, uneasy. "Cas got me out."

Sam glanced around as if Zach might leap out of the bushes. "Can he do it again? Can he find us now?"

Dean looked down at Cas. Cas shut his eyes and shook his head, kind of rolling it on the body of his car.

"No. You're still hidden. I..." Cas glanced at Dean, looking unhappy, "Should not have entered your dream. It was an opportunity Zachariah took advantage of."

Dean shrugged. "I've done dumber things drunk. " Sam made a small noise that sounded like rather insultingly fervent agreement. Dean scowled at him briefly.

He then pointed at Cas and gave him a stern look. "But you're officially cut off. "

Cas tilted his head back, raised his eyebrows and let out a puff of breath that might have been a laugh. Which was so creepily familiar in a bad, bad way that Dean clamped down hard on his arm, the other hand going to cover the lower half of his face while he made a quick, confused decision on whether to snarl or laugh out loud and how utterly fucked up this situation was. Dean pressed really tightly against his mouth with his fingers, and grabbed on probably too hard to Cas' arm, and successfully wiped the threat of either expression away from his face. The little crackle of alarm and (not panic, not panic) something else faded away.

He'd set his gun on his thigh. Dean stared at it for a second. He didn't recall letting go of it. He let his hand slide down his face slowly, and looked up. Cas and Sam were staring at him.

_I am upset that Cas is channeling from a future that I want to kill. I think this might say something about our lives._

Cas' eyebrows were drawn together sharply, his eyes narrowed. Cas' 'serious business' face. Also his 'trying to figure Dean the fuck out' face. Dean probably should have gotten defensive. But Cas couldn't have looked less like his future counterpart in that second if he'd tried. All Dean could feel was relieved.

Sammy, he noticed, was looking between the two of them with an intensity of dismay and sympathy that probably should have broken something. Sam took a deep breath, his shoulders going up and down noticeably. He was blinking a lot, like he was dazed, or like somebody had just smacked him in the face.

Dean wondered if Sam had just realized that for once, out of the three of them, he was the guy who had his shit together.

Dean changed the subject. He nodded at Cas' angel sword. "Zachariah," he said. "Is he," Dean squinted, "you know...dead?" Not exactly delicate, but it was the best Dean could do.

_Kill one of your brothers tonight, Cas buddy?_

Cas looked down at the sword in his hand as if he'd never seen it before. "No," he said, his voice rough. "He is...much more powerful than I." Cas leaned his head back against the Impala and shut his eyes. "I ran."

"Yeah, well, join the club," Sam muttered under his breath. It was possible that he might not have meant it to be overheard. Possible but not probable.

Dean turned around and glared at him. Because really? This was not the time to bitch about not going after thirty demons bare handed with no intel on how many angels may or may not be about to show up to kick everyone's asses. Sam froze pretty much immediately, wincing as if he could hear what Dean was thinking, and Dean started to get that maybe Sam needed a couple of minutes to process his new status as 'the stable one'. He looked fairly rattled.

"Sammy," Dean said carefully, "I think our crap is still in the trunk. Why don't you get it stowed away." His tone of voice left no question that he really didn't give a damn about their clothes or Sam's laptop, so long as Sam fucked off immediately.

"Uh. Right," Sam said guiltily. He paused on his way, and shot Dean a look that may have been half-apology. It was a slightly freaked out, pleading expression that Dean had seen on Sam's face before. More often when he was little. It was his 'Dean, fix this,' look, and from the way Sam glanced pointedly down at Cas, it was pretty clear what he was trying to say.

Sammy didn't look at him like that much any more. When he did, it usually just made Dean feel helpless and pissed at himself. Dean was pretty sure Sam was only doing it now because he felt kind of like a tool.

Still...Dean looked at Cas, who had gone through the entire exchange without moving, eyes shut, his head tilted back and leaning against his baby. Sam opened the trunk with a muffled thump. Dean could hear him rummaging around. The movement made Cas' head shift slightly on the car. It wasn't like Dean had been planning on letting this stuff lie, anyway. He wasn't going to let that shithole future happen. Not Dean-that-sucked. Not Sam-the-Devil-in-golf-shoes. Not any of it.

He just...hadn't necessarily had a lot of fucking success in stopping it yet, that was all.

Dean shoved aside the wobbly, sinking feeling that thought brought. He nodded to himself, and sat down beside Cas on the ground, close enough to bump him gently with his shoulder.

Without a word, Dean drew a leg up onto his thigh, and started brushing off the pebbles and crap that had gotten stuck to his bare foot.

Cas was watching him.

"Your shoes," he said.

Dean threw him a glance. "Yeah, well, you wake up thinking angels are about to pop in and stomp on your head, you forget stuff."

"Apologies," Cas replied, his voice low and rough.

Dean switched feet. He picked a pebble from his skin and flicked it into the parking lot, suddenly a little pissed at how beat-down Cas sounded. "You know what? Screw Zachariah." Dean said simply.

He thought, suddenly and for no real good reason, of the moment when the fruity demon in tweed had shoved him up against the wall with his powers, and he had struggled. Like he always did. Even though demon powers were no joke, and he was always pinned anyway.

_Because fuck you, that's why._

For some reason the shitty, wobbly feeling he'd had growing in his gut for a long time, probably even before God had come out as a deadbeat dad, started to ease up a little.

He watched Sam lug their crap into the motel room, aware Cas was staring at him, waiting for him to speak, with an amount of intensity that probably ought to be creepy.

"I don't give a crap about him, or the rest of your dick brothers," Dean said.

He looked over. Cas had lifted his chin. His eyes were wide. Lips together tight.

Dean was treading on angel feelings. He sighed.

"You, though..." he looked Cas up and down, deliberately. Dean shook his head, and when he spoke again his voice was softer. "You look like hell, man."

Cas stared at him for a long minute. Kung-fu master. Maybe he was reading his mind or his soul or something at times like this, Dean wasn't sure. Whatever.

What mattered was that after a minute or two, Cas relaxed. His mouth curled up at the corners, just barely. "My thanks," He replied.

Dean blinked at him, momentarily thrown. "Did you...was that a joke?"

Cas said nothing, but raised his eyebrows with a kind of weary acknowledgment, as if Dean had just made a point.

Dean let out a breath of amazed laughter and rested back against his baby. He rubbed at his face, snickering into his hand.

"Man," he sighed, "now I _know_ it's the end of the world."

There was a beat of silence. Cas frowned at him. "Make no mistake, Dean," he said in that weird, halting way of his, "This is the apocalypse."

The smile on Dean's face slipped a couple of notches. "Yeah...it was..." He looked at Cas' earnest, clueless expression. He sighed. "Nevermind."

He heaved himself up onto his feet, held out a hand to help Cas up. "Come on," he offered. "My ass is going numb."

Cas regarded his hand with careful deliberation, as if it meant more for Dean to offer this than a simple hand up off the ground. He took it, and Dean pulled. For a split second, Dean was shocked by the sheer weight of him; It was like trying to lift the world. Then something shifted, and he tugged Cas smoothly to his feet. Nothing weird but the lack of proximity between them when they were both left standing and staring at each other. Except all the hairs on the back of Deans arms were standing up.

Freaky angel shit.

Dean swallowed, and deliberately ignored it, like it was Sam being irritating. On a certain level, he figured it kind of was. Freaky angel shit was now on his list of annoying stuff that he just had to deal with, like ordering salads at the drive-thru and constantly picking at a closed subject.

Dean had practice at this. He hopped up on the hood of his car and sat there, deliberately ignoring said weirdness. He checked the safety on his pistol, popped the clip out, set everything next to him on the hood. He could feel Cas watching him, his silent curiousity suddenly seeming a little spooky. Dean didn't look at him. He looked up at the sky instead. It was clear out, lots of stars, though the light from the motel sign screwed with the view. Cas didn't sit next to him, but he did lean against the car and tilt his head back thoughtfully, sharing the moment.

Dean should have brought a beer.

"Me and Sam used to do this a lot, after Dad died," Dean said then. He could feel Cas turn to look at him. "I'd park off on a side road and we'd sit there all night." Dean brushed some imaginary dirt off his knee. Cas waited, knowing somehow (how did he always know?) that Dean was working up to something. "You know Sam and me hooked up again because our Dad took off, right?" He glanced over at Cas. Cas was staring at him intently- he decided to take that as a yes. "Yeah, he disappeared." Dean smiled bitterly. "Well do you know what happened when we got to close to finding him? He called us. He said 'Stop looking for me. I'm better off without you.'"

Cas stiffened at his side.

Dean nodded to himself. Cas couldn't be counted on to understand a good joke even when he was hit in the face with it, but parables seemed to get through just fine. Must be cultural or something.

"Yeah," Dean continued, as if this was just an ordinary conversation. "Sam was pissed. He wanted to track Dad down. But you know what I said?" He looked at Cas.

Cas was leaning forward. He looked like he was practically hanging on every word. Just slightly, he shook his head.

"'Yes, sir'," Dean continued. "That's what I always said."

"You were obedient," Cas said quietly. He had a funny look on his face, staring at Dean. It was like he thought Dean was something bigger than he actually was. Something more.

It was freaky.

"I was stupid," Dean said impatiently. "I was too scared to stand up to my dad, and my dad's stupid load of crap. And I regret that. All the time. But you know what I don't regret? I loved him anyway. I loved my dad, Cas. Even though he was a bastard. Even when he was a bastard."

Cas made a small sound, like some of the air had been punched out of him. He rocked back a little, and his eyes... Dean didn't really want to think about why the fuck anybody would have that expression on their face, much less Cas. Like somebody had just ripped his nuts off and showed them to him. Dean thought for a second that he might crack and just start crying. It was a bad moment.

He didn't, though. Dean had said it before; Cas was a tough little guy. He just stood staring at Dean like he'd just been gutted, and then Dean watched him ease back from the edge. After a few moments he looked up at the sky with this expression on his face like the world was too crappy to bear. Dean could relate.

Then he pressed his lips together very tight. His shoulders sagged a bit, and he shut his eyes. "Is it always like this?" Cas asked, his voice very rough.

The question dried Dean's mouth out.

He wiped at the bottom half of his face, and wished, briefly, that the aforementioned piece of crap world would give them a break now and then, so that maybe he wouldn't have to imagine what a normal person would say to a question like this. Then he looked at Cas' expression-he was always so damn _trusting- _and Dean's determination to lie his way through this crumbled.

"Not always," he said. Which admittedly was a weak fucking answer, but not a lie.

Cas looked at the ground and nodded, bracing himself, as if that was pretty much what he'd expected. Dean had a sudden violent urge to smack his own face, because he knew he was screwing this up, and had no idea how to save the situation.

It was as if Dean kept trying to keep that crap future from happening, like he was trying to keep the one where Michael wore him like a little black dress and tore the world down, but he couldn't get a grip on it or something. He took a breath, and thought for a second about what the exact opposite of what dick-him-from-the-future would do in this situation.

Talk.

"Look," Dean said, "I'm not gonna lie and say one day it'll be all rainbows, that time heals all wounds or some other crap like that." He looked up. "But it won't always suck. You find people to lean on. Family." He remembered who he was talking to, and what kind of assholes Cas had in his family, and added quickly, "Friends. You find stuff to distract you. Good things. Eventually it doesn't hurt so bad."

Cas narrowed his eyes slightly. He looked thoughtful, which was an improvement.

"What...things?" Cas asked awkwardly.

Dean made a face. "Ordinarily, I'd say hit a bar." He held up his hand. "But in your case I think that's a bad idea. You've had enough." He gave Cas a stern look, which Cas ignored.

"Anything else?" Cas prompted. Like he was taking notes. Or maybe he was just that desperate not to think.

_Sex,_ Dean thought instantly. Then he wondered, again, if maybe Cas wouldn't be a hell of a lot better off if he was asking these questions of a normal person. Besides, after that little brothel adventure Dean was pretty much convinced that Castiel's first time getting laid was going to need to be handled a bit...

He stopped thinking, for a brief second, his brain actually stuttering a little.

_Something dick-him-from-the-future would never do_ .

Cas stood there staring at him, rumpled and still slightly drunk, with this tired, hurt look in his eyes that left him looking about as close to human as Dean had ever seen him.

And maybe that Kung-fu master stuff worked both ways, because Cas wasn't saying anything right now, but just from the eye contact Dean was getting the current situation with Cas loud and clear.

_Everything hurts. Everything sucks. I don't know what to do. Help me._

Dean's heart pounded a couple of times hard in his chest, like a traitor. Then he reached out and grabbed onto the lapel of Cas' coat.

"Come here," he said. It came out more like a croak.

Cas looked confused, but he leaned close. Dean only caught a second of surprise on his face when Dean kissed him.

Cas stiffened. He breathed out a quick, startled puff of air through his nose, and it spread warmly over the side of Dean's face. Cas' surprise was understandable; Dean was kind of surprised himself, and he was the one doing the kissing. Dean responded by tilting his head, adjusting, slotting their mouths together. Dean trailed his mouth lightly across Cas' lips, back and forth, and felt some of the tension melt out of him.

Dean flicked a glance up to check on how Cas was handling this. Cas' eyes were open wide. It probably should have been creepy, but it wasn't. He was staring at Dean like Dean was doing something amazing. Turning water into wine, or something.

Dean relaxed slightly, feeling a pleasant heat start to coil up inside him. Cas' lips were very soft. This was nice. Nicer than it had any right to be, given that Cas didn't really know what was going on, and Dean was half-scared he was flushing the only friendship he hadn't inherited from his Dad down the toilet.

Dean kept the kiss light, kind of lingering. It really, really wasn't a sacrifice. It wasn't like Dean _hadn't_ noticed that Cas had nice lips. He took a minute or two to enjoy them, since he honestly didn't have anything to lose at this point. Cas wasn't exactly participating, but he wasn't jerking away either. It was...a lot hotter than it probably ought to have been.

Dean kind of mouthed gently at his upper lip, caught it lightly between his teeth, toying with him a little. Cas exhaled. It was a distinctly positive sound, and when Dean pulled back to look at his face, Cas made a small motion as if to follow.

They both took a minute to catch their breath.

"Dean? What are you doing?" Cas asked him slowly.

All the tension Dean had been holding melted away. Because Cas did look confused. But he didn't sound all that confused. His voice had dropped half a register (which Dean didn't even think was possible) and gone very soft. 'Promise you won't tell another soul' soft. If Dean wasn't already turned on, hearing that probably would have done it. Cas was even breathing hard, and Dean was almost sure he didn't need to breathe at all.

Testing, Dean licked his lips. Cas' eyes followed the movement.

Mentally, Dean made a fist and punched the air. This was going to work out. A second later, he recalled Cas' freaky angel shit, and hoped Cas didn't have his ears on at the moment.

"Look," Dean said, flashing him a smile and attempting to be reassuring, "just go with it, okay?" he leaned closer. "Trust me."

And fuck everything if Cas didn't lean toward him, serious and nodding like Dean had just given him battle plans or something vital to saving the world from Lucifer.

Then Dean tilted his head to kiss him again, and he saw Cas start to close his eyes as Dean leaned in.

At that second Dean was certain this was the best idea he'd ever had. Sade was singing in his ear how smooth this operator was. He did not, however, actually pump his fist in the air. Because no matter what Sam might think, Dean had fucking class.

Cas' lips softened almost immediately underneath Dean's mouth this time. A second later Cas was starting to respond, to get a rhythm between them going, a crackling give-and-take. Cas was an inhumanly fast freaking learner, and despite the fact that all he'd done so far was light kissing Cas still applied himself to Dean's mouth with some impressive dedication. Dean tried to get the situation back under control, but somehow Cas had caught Dean's lower lip in his mouth and was sucking on it, so that was difficult. Cas' teeth scraped him lightly as Cas pulled back a little, tugging gently on his lower lip as if he meant pull Dean along after him. At that, Dean's brain fused entirely and his intention to ease Cas into this was abandoned in favor of sliding his hand up the back of Cas' neck and singlemindedly licking his way inside Cas' mouth.

Cas made a small noise, and that was good-that was fantastic-but it wasn't nearly enough and so Dean scrambled up on the hood for leverage, really leaning in. Dean had a fistful of that thick dark hair and he tugged on it, pulling Cas' head back, and Cas just went with it, turning it into some kind of crazy back-arched movie kiss. And somehow the fact that Cas was the girl in their particular flick was just insanely hot.

Cas got a hand on his arm and jerked him closer, which unfortunately broke their mouths apart. Dean found himself suddenly looking at Cas' neck, and decided that was an excellent idea. He trailed his mouth down across the stubble on Cas' jawline. Dean bit him lightly there and got another small noise. Encouraged, he continued down, the skin warmer at Cas' throat. He found skin there that was more delicate, blood vessels running underneath, and mouthed at it. His lips left wet trails, messy and hot, not quite kissing. Dean looked up, wanting to see...

Cas was breathing fast underneath him. He'd shut his eyes, and his mouth was open, his head tilted to give Dean more access to his neck. Willing and completely absorbed in what Dean was doing to him. And that just made Dean want to do more. Dean looked back down. Cas' stupid shirt collar was in the way, and Dean tugged at it and went to grab at his tie, ready to fling it into the parking lot for all he cared...

He froze.

The hood of the car was biting into his bare knees. Cas was bent back at a crazy angle, bracing himself on the windshield. Slowly, Dean let the tie slip out of his hand, and sat back. He let out a shaky breath, tried to get a hold of himself.

_Fuck. Okay. Fuck._

Dean had only meant to kiss him. This was a little out of hand.

Then Cas looked up at him, and his eyes were somehow twice as big as they usually were and he said, "We should do this again. Immediately."

Something unclenched inside his stomach, and Dean was suddenly grinning like a moron. "Yeah?" he said, and adjusted his shoulders, feeling like a champ. "I mean, yeah," he agreed, and shut his mouth before he could start babbling. Cas started to push himself up toward Dean, his eyes dark.

Dean hopped off the car, thwarting him, dusting his ass off. He realized immediately that he had a problem that was really noticeable given that he was out there in just his underwear and a shirt. He made a necessary adjustment, then gave his shirt a halfhearted tug downward to try and cover it. It was pretty useless. Dean glanced around, relieved that the parking lot was empty of other people.

Cas was staring at where he was tugging at the hem of his shirt. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes slightly.

"You're aroused."

Dean smiled. "No shit." He gave Cas a speculative look, his expression turning tentative. "You want to...uh..." he made a vague gesture. He raised his eyebrows significantly.

Cas gave him a dubious look.

Dean scrubbed his hand through his hair and let out a breath of laughter, looking away, across the parking lot. "Man, this is my life...do you want to try," he turned back, saw the earnest and clueless expression Cas was giving him, and faltered. "Uh, I mean, would you..." Cas blinked at him. "Sex, Cas. We could have sex." He paused, gritting his teeth and considering his audience. "With each other."

Cas raised his eyebrows very high.

Dean waited, feeling slightly ridiculous.

His car shifted as Cas stood up and pushed away from it as if he was about to jump into a fight. All swift motion and serious angel badassery.

Dean did not recoil at all, because he was a tough motherfucker. But he was meaning to say something about how they should maybe forget about the whole thing and just go inside, if it pissed Cas off that much. He didn't get a chance, because Cas was suddenly right up in his face. Dean had to lean his head back a little to focus on him, Cas was so close.

Cas was wearing a strangely determined expression, as if he had accepted some great challenge. "Yes," He said gravely. "I would be willing. To know you." Dean wasn't sure if it was funny or alarming, how completely serious Cas seemed.

"Know me?" Dean asked, unsure about where this conversation was going.

Cas nodded slowly. "Carnally."

Dean blinked at him for a minute, relaxing. He nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, thrown by the bizarre way Cas expressed himself sometimes. Then he realized what had just happened, and put a hand on Cas' arm, brightening. "Okay," he said again, more enthusiastically. In a charming, suave, hooray-I-am-going-to-have-sex-with-you way.

Dean turned and looked across the parking lot, eyed the room that he'd been sharing with Sam. He then looked to the room directly to the right of it. Dean did a quick mental calculation on about how long he would have before Sam came out here to check on them. Probably a while. Sam thought they were talking about feelings.

"Come on," Dean said, his voice warm. He smiled, too, because this was going to be fun. One of the Good Things.

Cas followed, something soft in his expression. He kept glancing up at Dean's face.

It couldn't be that weird to see him smile, could it?

Dean stopped by the door he'd been eying. He'd approached it in a way so that Sam wouldn't see where they went, if he happened to be checking out of the window on them. Dean nodded at the door. The room looked dark and empty.

"Anyone inside?" He asked Cas.

The door clicked as it unlocked. "No," Cas replied, opening it from the inside. Freaky angel shit had its perks.

Dean grinned. "All right," he said, and went in. He shut the door behind him and threw the chain. Dean turned around and Cas was right there, not two inches in front of his face. Dean didn't have time to flinch.

Cas stepped forward and kissed him fiercely. Dean made a surprised sound and stumbled back against the door. Cas followed, his mouth firm and self-assured against Dean's. Cas kissed Dean like a goddamn pro, deep and wickedly hot, one hand pressed against Dean's clavicle, pinning him in place. It was a display of casual strength that Dean had to admit under the circumstances was pretty freaking sexy.

Dean hadn't expected Cas to learn so fast. But Dean was adaptable-it just meant he would have to cheat a little.

He twisted one hand into the lapel of Cas' coat, trying to pull Cas in closer. He was rewarded by the warm press of Cas' body against his, a long line of heat settling against him. The hand that had been pinning him slid up the back of his neck, Cas' blunt nails scratching lightly at his hairline. It felt great. Dean made a soft approving noise into Cas' mouth.

Dean slid his free hand down and cupped Cas through his suit pants. He felt a little flash of pride to find that Cas was half-hard already. Cas tensed against him, his mouth going still in shock. He pulled back slightly, and for a second he had the strangest expression on his face. Like a guy who had something stuck in his teeth and was trying to locate the offending object.

Dean took a second to make the connection, and then laughed in his face. "It's a boner. It happens."

Cas gave him a look that was a little bit of distaste and a lot of irritation.

Dean slipped a hand low, bracingly around his waist. Then he drew his palm down once, firmly, over Cas' erection. He pressed in a little bit with the heel of his hand deliberately, his eyes on Cas' face, anticipating.

Cas gave him a look of pure shock. He grabbed onto Dean shirt, making a fist in the fabric as all the breath went out of him like he'd been punched.

Dean tightened the arm he had around Cas' waist, pulling him more firmly against Dean's chest. If Dean was thinking, it was to keep Cas on his feet. But bringing him in close like that just brought Cas' erection up roughly against Dean's thigh.

Cas made a strangled sound, and one of the lamps flickered on the side table. Suddenly they were kissing, and it was hot and messy and frantic, and Cas was pushing up against him and Dean was grabbing his ass trying to keep him right there. Trying for friction standing up was pissing him off but Cas had his shirt half ripped off and Dean had worked his fingers into Cas' thick hair and was tugging on it and then Cas was grabbing at him, pulling at him, he really was strong as fuck and the friction was suddenly fantastic and Dean turned his head and bit him on the side of the neck, just because he could and then the table side light bulb shattered, spraying the floor with glass.

They both stopped, freezing like somebody had called a time-out. Dean looked at the floor for a second, getting his breath back. Then he looked over at Cas. The question on his lips was a practical one. Was this actually going to be safe?

Should he, maybe, unscrew the lights before they continued?

Cas had shut his eyes, though, and his hands flexed at Dean's back. Like he was calming himself. Dean mouthed gently at his lips, and Cas opened his eyes. His pupils were blown wide. His expression was...not what Dean was expecting.

He looked softer than Dean had ever seen him. Dean's grip went slack and he swallowed hard, his brain rendered pretty much useless by the obvious affection on Cas' face.

"This is easier on the bed," Dean said, nodding his head in that direction. He took a step back, shaken. He was not going to start freaking out. This was fine. This was...going to be fine. Just two friends hooking up so their lives sucked a little less in the morning. _This was going to be fine._

Cas got onto the bed like it was something he had read about someone doing once but never actually attempted. He walked over to it like he was going to introduce himself to it, sat down on the edge of it, then swung his legs up, and finally reclined with a self-satisfied air. After a moment of consideration, he folded his hands on his stomach, and then looked even more pleased, glancing at Dean.

Dean gaped at him. He did not call him a weirdo. That was not good bedroom manners.

"Uh," he gestured, "better scoot over."

Cas frowned at him as if Dean was a continual source of disappointment. Then he pushed himself up and scooted over to the middle of the bed so nobody would end up on the floor. He didn't take off his coat, so it ended up kind of trailing after him across the bed. He didn't even take off his shoes.

Cas did prop himself up on his elbows so he could watch Dean. His hard-on was pretty obvious from this angle, tenting his dress pants. It was weird; The way Cas' coat was kind of twisted underneath him left a lot of his dark suit showing. Dean almost never got to see it, Cas wore that coat like armor or something. Seeing him like this made Cas look exposed.

Dean looked up, past the strangely vulnerable state of Cas' wardrobe and was moved to act by the expression on his face. For the first time, he looked uncertain.

Dean realized abruptly that Cas had no clue what to do. After a second of thought he figured he should probably lead by example and started stripping. It didn't take long. Dean shucked his shirt and underwear, then stood there grinning down at Cas for a second, pleased as punch.

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><p>For deletedextended scenes of smut and sexytimes, go to:

archiveofourown dot org /works/443485/chapters/846624 (curse you, fanfiction, with your inability to post links...just cut the spaces and add a . where it needs to be)

* * *

><p><em>Author's Notes: So, I wasn't sure about posting this. In fact, I'm in a bit of a dilemma about several of my half-finished fics. I kinda wanted to wean off posting my fiction here, but it seems rude and crappy to stop in the middle when I've got several long fics still going. So, everything will get finished up, but I'll probably be editing for content and just posting links to the unedited versions that I have posted elsewhere. I'll try and keep up with cross posting my new stuff over here as well, but this is definitely no longer my main fiction site. I'm over at AO3 (archive of our own), as JackHawksmoor. I haven't migrated my old stuff over there yet, but my new stuff will be up there first, and completeunedited, (if anybody is still reading this)._


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